Crown Prince Stewart

His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Stewart, Duke of the Emblazoned Isles, lifted Chantelle's arm gently and attempted to roll out of bed without waking her. At 21 years of age, the heir apparent to the throne bore a striking resemblance to his father at that age. His dark hair, muscular body and chiseled features would have caught the eye of many a fair maiden, even if he wasn't destined to be the next king of Mirantia.

Stewart stretches and gazes through the window at the sunrise, dreading the responsibilities of the day.

"Come back to bed," says Chantelle. "It's too early to get up, and I'm not done with you yet." She pats the spot beside her with her light-blue hand. Being a Ciguapa, she is not generally at her best during daylight hours, but it is for her nighttime energy that Stewart most craves her attention.

"I wish I could, my dear," the Prince responds, taking time to admire her naked form. "Unfortunately, I have slept too long as it is. Father and Mother require my presence within the hour, and I have much to do."

"Why can't you just tell them that you have chosen me to be your bride? Is it because I'm a commoner, or because I'm not a virgin that they would find me unacceptable?"

Stewart smiles at her question. "There is a precedent for royalty marrying a commoner, and although the concept of a virgin princess is a lovely thought, no one seriously expects that a lot of qualified candidates are available. I think it has a lot more to do with the fact that you're blue and magical that Mummy and Daddy would blow a royal gasket."

Chantelle pouts. "That's so unfair. I could be a good queen. I'd certainly keep my sovereign liege happy." She cups her breasts and licks at them teasingly.

"No doubt about that, Love," says the Prince, enjoying the little show. "But it would be a dreadful sacrilege to cover that gorgeous, sexy body with clothes -- even something as regal as a purple robe."

"For you, I would wear clothes," she says. "I wonder what they feel like... Such a curious custom you humans have about that."

Stewart returns to the task of getting ready for the day. What remains unsaid between them is the brutal fact that a royal marriage between a human and a magical being would destroy centuries of covenants that precluded such a thing. As it is, Stewart is technically in violation of the law by bedding this fabulous nocturnal seductress, but one of the many advantages of royal prerogative is that people are willing to cut him quite a bit of slack, as long as he performs his royal obligations.

And cut him some slack they should. From the time Stewart was born, his life was not his own. Most people would think being born to a life of privilege and power would be ideal, but not when the rest of your life is planned out for you. Everything -- his education, his training, his social schedule -- is imposed upon him by others, with nary a concern about what he wants to do.

And that includes his choice of wife, which is why this day seems so oppressive to him. His parents have been increasingly vocal for the past three years that he needs to settle down and find a suitable princess of another kingdom or an appropriate high-bred daughter of a Mirantian nobleman to be his wife so he can get to work producing his own heir and a spare.

Thus far, Stewart has been able to hold them off. "I'm looking for just the right one," he told his mother one day. "Sleeping with a different girl each night is not the same as courting the future Queen of Mirantia," she rebuked. "We understand you need to sow your wild oats and get your youthful urges out of your system, but that time has passed, and the longer you wait, the more you imperil the kingdom."

His mother made it sound a lot worse than it was. Granted, in his teenage years, he probably let his hormones convince him to take advantage of his name and power to woo more than his fair share of females into his bedchambers. Recently, however, he has pretty much limited himself to Chantelle. Of course, that knowledge would do little to ease his mother's concerns.

Chantelle was not your typical Ciguapa. Granted, she did seduce him one moonlit night as he rode through the forest. Unlike her sister Ciguapas, however, Chantelle did not flay the skin off his bones or leave his lifeless body to rot among the leaves. Instead, after learning he was the future king, she released him as an act of obedience to the crown. In payment, Stewart has rewarded her with recurring privileges in the royal bed.

But a Ciguapa will never sit on the throne. King Malcolm, a man known for his own fair share of wild oat sowing -- before and after his marriage -- was never known to copulate with magical beings. There are some traditions that are too strong to break.

Tiring of waiting for their son to choose the mother of their grandchildren, the King and Queen sent announcements far and wide that they would be pleased to host a gathering of the fairest women of noble birth at the castle so they could choose a "worthy and honorable consort for the Crown Prince."

"Well, at least Father and Mother will let me give my opinion before they choose my wife for me," mused Stewart. It matters not to them that Adella is nearly two years older than him and is in danger of becoming an old maid; Stewart is to be king, and a king must have a queen. More importantly, a king must have a son -- and a spare.

"Oh, just don't let her be ugly!" thought Stewart. He could bring himself to conceive a child with someone who is mediocre in appearance, but not with a hag.

"Will I be invited to the wedding?" asked Chantelle.

"Probably not," answers the Prince. "But you'll certainly be welcome to come along on the honeymoon. You probably need to clear out of here today, though. I imagine Mother will being giving dignitaries the full tour. It would not do for my future mother-in-law and father-in-law to find my mistress laying naked in my bed."

Chantelle giggles. "What about your future queen?"

"She'll have plenty of time to meet you later."

With that, the Crown Prince of Mirantia departs his bedchambers to make his way to the throne room.